"I believe it's a mistake, you all going the same way," he said, as he seized the last bag of chickens. "I'll slip round the corner, and come in from the plain."
So round he went in the dusky light and met Lieutenant Benton in the very mouth of the sallyport. Rig saluted, and slipped in. But dark as it was under the grey arch, the officer's practised eyes found something unusual about the cadet outlines, and the next moment he turned and gave chase.
Rig had the start, and would have got off out of sight in another second if Mr. Benton had not suddenly shouted:
"Cadet, halt!"
Then it was all up.
"What have you there, sir?"
"Chickens, sir."
"Go to the guard-house and turn them in."
Crestfallen and sour, Rig crossed the area, set his bag down at the door of the guardhouse, and went in with his report. Being promptly ordered to produce his plunder, Rig stepped to the door—and behold! one chicken only was left. The light-fingered, light-footed boys in grey had in that two minutes rifled the bag and vanished. And Rig felt smaller than his own chicken when he turned it in, with the big bag, to the officer of the day.
"Just my luck!" he said gloomily. But he never knew who ate the chickens.